Destiny's Child
by Helena L
Summary: A preKOTOR story explaining more about Revan's origins and upbringing, leading up to the Mandalorian Wars and his split with the Council.
1. Part 1

A/N: I've had several requests for a parody of KOTOR 2, but unfortunately I'm neither willing nor able to play the game at the moment. Those of you wanting more humourous stuff will have to wait for the Yet Another Kotor Parody Special Edition (in which Mission Vao is replaced by a Gungan, Canderous becomes a cuddly father-figure type for the benefit of younger readers, and Boba Fett is inserted into every third scene). In the meantime, there's this...**

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**Part 1**

The midday sun beat down mercilessly over the crowded spaceport. Down on the ground the heat was almost stifling; it was like being in an oven. People stood or sat in listless, subdued silence, penned in like cattle, waiting for someone to tell them where to go and what to do.

There were thousands of them, mostly women and children, clutching bags and cases and boxes overflowing with belongings – anything they could carry with them. They stood in endless rows, separated only by flimsy, hastily-erected metal barriers. Occasionally a shout would go up and the queue would shuffle forward another few feet; then the movement would cease, and the dreary, interminable wait would resume again.

Maline Jast clutched her daughters' hands tightly. They had no idea what was going on, and the heat was making them restless and irritable. "Mummy, I'm _hot_," whined Alora, who was three.

"Have some water, darling." She fumbled around in her bag for the flask. Five-year-old Catrel tugged at her sleeve.

"Why are we moving so slowly, Mummy?"

"Because there aren't enough ships to take all the people."

Catrel looked around at the long snake of people which stretched off into the distance. "Is that why Daddy can't come with us?'

A stab of pain shot through Maline's heart. She'd told the girls they were only going away for a little while; she still had no idea how to explain to them that they wouldn't be seeing their father again, ever. "Daddy's a soldier, Catrel. He has to stay here, to protect the planet from the Mandalorians."

"Oh." The little girl fell silent for a moment. "Will he be coming after us when they've gone?"

"I... yes, darling, I hope so." Maline turned away so that her daughters wouldn't see the tears beginning to form in her eyes. A woman in the next row looked at her sympathetically; in her arms she was cradling a tiny baby, no more than a few weeks old.

Suddenly the crowd began to stir. Near the head of the queue, one of the soldiers organising the evacuation was approaching the crowd, carrying a loudhailer. Looking tense and nervous, he raised it to his lips and began to speak.

"We can only take three hundred more." There was a sharp, collective intake of breath from the assembled throng. Maline's heart stood still; she frantically began to scan the rows ahead of her, trying to work out how many people were left to go. Hundreds, certainly...

The officer walked slowly down the line, clearly making a rough mental calculation of the number of people in each row. As he drew level with Maline's row he hesitated, stopped... She closed her eyes, feeling like she was going to throw up; her heart was hammering against her ribs and her chest felt so tight that she could hardly breathe.

"Row six. This is the last one." Maline's head jerked up. Row six? Yes, that was hers. "The rest of you... please, return to your homes." The soldier tried to speak with authority, but his voice sounded feeble and almost pleading – the voice of a man who knew he was condemning hundreds of people to death.

For a moment, there was dead silence. Then, as the realisation began to sink in, the cries and wails began... But to Maline, the clamour was barely audible; she collapsed onto a packing case, weak and trembling with relief, and folded her two precious daughters into her arms. It had been so, so close...

A sudden sound, like a strangled cry, made her look up. The woman opposite her was staring down at the child in her arms, her face frozen with horror. "No," she whispered, her whole body starting to shake. "No. My baby..." The look of despair in her eyes was beyond anything Maline had ever seen.

Now that she knew her own children were safe, the young woman felt a powerful ache of compassion for the family who had not been so lucky. She was under no illusions about their chances of survival; even if they escaped being bombed or shot, the Mandalorians would have little use for a mother with a newborn child. And Daminia was a desert planet; there was nowhere to hide...

Maline imagined standing on the other side of that barrier, faced with the death of her own daughters and helpless to prevent it, and felt sick. She had to do something. Almost without thinking she stood up, leaned over the railing and held out her arms. The other woman stared at her in astonishment, the faintest glimmer of hope beginning to flicker in her eyes.

"You... you'll take him?" she whispered. The queue was beginning to move off again. Maline nodded, and the woman hastily thrust the baby into her arms. "Revan," she hissed. "His name is Revan..." There was no time for her to say anything else; the tide of desperate people swept forwards, and Maline and her daughters were carried along with it.

When the pushing and shoving finally stopped, the woman was nowhere to be seen. Unaware of his fate, baby Revan gurgled contentedly in his new 'mother's' arms, watched curiously by the two girls. "Mummy," said Alora loudly, "why did that lady give us her baby?"

"Shh." Maline pulled her daughters closer to her and spoke in a low voice. "He's our baby now. A new little brother for you."

Alora screwed up her face in obvious disdain, but Catrel looked interested. She was too young to remember her sister's birth; as far as she knew, this was a perfectly normal way of getting a new brother. "Can I hold him?" she asked.

"No, Catrel. He's not a doll," replied her mother firmly. "Anyway, I need you to carry the bags."

As they finally approached the head of the queue, Maline's pulse quickened once more. She wasn't sure what would happen to the baby if it was discovered that he didn't belong to her; would she be forced to leave him behind? She could only pray that her daughters wouldn't say anything.

A weary-looking guard held out his hand for their identification cards as they approached him. "Maline Jast... Catrel Jast... Alora Jast." He entered the names into a datapad, then looked up. "And the baby?"

Maline surreptitiously crossed her fingers. "He - he was only born a couple of weeks ago. We haven't registered the birth yet." Unfortunately she was not a good liar; the guard looked suspicious.

"And his name?" he asked doubtfully.

"Revan."

"Revan?" For some reason, hearing the name caused the man to turn slightly pale. He bent over and looked closely at the sleeping child.

"He's our new little brother," announced Catrel proudly. The guard straightened up and smiled at her – rather sadly, Maline thought.

"Very well then. Off you go."

As they walked towards the last remaining starship, Maline wondered why Revan's name had produced such an effect on the man, and why he had not said anything when he clearly hadn't believed her. Perhaps he had children of his own, and could understand. It wasn't until they were on board the ship that she suddenly made the connection...

There were more pressing matters at hand, however. As the family squeezed themselves down on the floor in a corner of the ship, Revan woke up and began to whimper. Suddenly Maline realised, with a rapidly mounting sense of dismay, that she had no way of feeding him – and, for that matter, nothing else that a baby would need. What in the name of the Force had she been thinking?

In the end she had to wait until the ship took off, before wandering off in an attempt to find someone who would help her. Eventually she managed to find another new mother who, luckily, was sympathetic to her plight. As she returned to her place with a bottle of milk for Revan, she found her daughters fidgeting on the floor, tired and fractious.

"I'm _hungry_," moaned Alora. Maline sank down to the floor and shut her eyes, sighing. It was going to be a long flight...

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"We've been flying non-stop for fifty-five hours." The pilot, who was only in his early thirties, looked utterly exhausted. "We never thought the Mandalorians would bother attacking Daminia. When we realised they were coming, we only had a couple of days to get everyone out..."

Master Kirelle nodded understandingly. "How many of you are there?"

"About three hundred." The man mopped his brow with his sleeve. "We... we had to leave a lot of them behind. There was such a panic... everyone with their own ship just fled. There was nothing we could do..."

He gave her a look of helpless misery. Kirelle patted him soothingly on the arm, trying to calm him down. "I see. Well, don't worry, there's a Jedi enclave here on Dantooine. We'll organise a place for everyone to stay until we can set up a camp for them."

"Thank you." The man sagged with relief. Suddenly Kirelle felt a tap on her shoulder; it was her Padawan, Jodin. "Master, look..."

Kirelle swung round. A haggard-looking woman was approaching them, carrying a wailing baby under one arm and some travel bags in the other. Trailing along behind her were two very tired and dishevelled-looking little girls.

"Are you Jedi? Oh, thank the Force." She looked close to tears. "I can't find anyone to help me. Please –" She dropped the bags and thrust the crying baby towards the Jedi.

Kirelle opened her mouth to speak and then suddenly paused, gaping at the child. Were her senses deceiving her? The look on her Padawan's face suggested that she could feel it, too. "Madam," she began, "your child –"

"He's not mine. He's not my child." The woman appeared to be on the verge of hysteria. "I had to take him. There weren't enough ships, you see..."

Eventually, with the help of some food and a hot drink, the Jedi managed to calm Maline down sufficiently to get the whole story out of her. "Poor little Revan," said Kirelle softly, when she had finished. "And you have no idea who his parents were?"

Maline shook her head. "I could describe his mother to you, but I don't know her name." She drew a long, laboured breath. "Master Jedi, I can't look after him. I have two daughters of my own, and my husband – he had to stay behind..." She broke off, her voice choked.

"We'll look after him for you," Jodin assured her. She was cradling Revan, now fed, changed and sleeping peacefully, as tenderly as if he were her own child. The elder of Maline's daughters looked up indignantly.

"But he's _ours_!" she cried out. "He's our little brother. Mummy said so!"

"I'm afraid he's not really ours, Catrel." Maline looked very tired. "He belongs to the lady we met on Daminia."

"But she gave him to _us_! Mummy, tell them they can't have him!" Catrel looked outraged. Sighing, her mother stood up and took her by the hand.

"Come on, girls, we have to go." She nodded to Kirelle. "Thank you, Master Jedi. I... I hope you find his parents again."

"But he's _ouuuurs_..." The little voice faded away as Maline dragged her daughters off into the spaceport.

Jodin looked down at the tiny, helpless little bundle resting on her lap. Although it was not uncommon for children to be given to the Order as infants, she had never seen a newborn baby before. "He's so small," she whispered, awed.

Her Master nodded. "Babies grow very quickly."

"But the Force is so strong with him, Master... I've never felt anything like it."

Kirelle could understand her surprise. For all her years as a Jedi, it never ceased to amaze her how something as small as a baby could produce such a powerful effect in the Force. "We must tell the Council about this," she said quietly. "This one is something special, I think."

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In their chamber high above the city of Coruscant, the Jedi Council members were gathered in a semicircle around their chairman, Vandar Tokare. The diminutive Jedi Master was gazing almost reverently at the even tinier human he held in his arms, shaking his head as if unable to believe his eyes. Finally he murmured, "I haven't seen one this strong in the Force in two hundred years..."

Master Xorill nodded. "I can believe it. I don't think even Exar Kun had the kind of power I sense in that child..."

"Yes, and look what happened to Kun," muttered Vrook Lamar, ever the pessimist. Xorill suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Vrook, just because he's strong in the Force doesn't mean he'll go the way of Exar."

As if he had understood, Revan opened his eyes and beamed up at the circle of faces hovering above him; one might almost have said he was relishing the attention. Monir Ne'dolo carefully lifted the baby out of Vandar's arms and began to rock him back and forth, cooing to him softly in her own language. Master Dorak began to laugh. "Monir has fallen in love with him already."

Monir raised her head and smiled, but the look in her eyes was serious. "The Force has brought this one to us, Vandar. I'm sure of it."

"Don't be so hasty." Vandar held out his arms to the woman, who reluctantly handed Revan back to him. "Either one of his parents could have survived the attack, or even both. We'll have to try and find them before we can think about taking him into the Jedi."

Monir nodded. "I know, Vandar, but it is unlikely..."

"Unlikely, yes. But we must at least make enquiries."

The enquiries were made; but as expected, they came to nothing. Almost everyone who remained on Daminia had been killed during the Mandalorians' initial assault; most of the survivors had been taken as slaves, and of the few who had escaped, none knew anything about a baby named Revan. So the child became a citizen of the Republic and a ward of the Jedi, taken to their academy on Dantooine to be trained in the Force. Since no one knew his surname, they eventually named him after the ship which had first brought him there: the _Skywalker_.


	2. Part 2

A/N: I had intended this to be a two-part story, but as often happens I ended up writing a lot more than I thought I would. So, one more chapter to go.

To those of you who asked, Revan's name is not significant in itself - at least not in my story. However, you may be interested in this dictionary definition:

**rev·e·nant**  
_n._

1. One that returns after a lengthy absence.  
2. One who returns after death.

(French, from present participle of _revenir_, 'to return', from Old French.)**

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Part 2**

"What are we going to play today, Revan?"

"Jedi and Sith." The announcement was greeted with a mixture of cheers and groans.

"But we _always_ play Jedi and Sith," whined Nilo, a Twi'lek boy. "Why can't we do something else?"

"We don't always play it." Revan looked annoyed at being opposed. "We played Space Pirates yesterday."

"But –"

Revan drew himself up to his full height (currently an impressive three foot ten) and glared at his challenger. "If you don't want to play," he said sternly, "you can start your own game." All eyes fell on Nilo, who shrank back and shook his head, suitably cowed.

"All right." Seeing that there were no further objections, Revan began to assign the teams. "You're a Jedi –" he tapped the nearest child on the shoulder – "and you're a Sith. Jedi, Sith, Jedi, Sith..." The cluster of five-, six- and seven-year-olds hastily began to sort themselves into their allocated groups.

These seemingly insignificant proceedings might have been of interest to a student of psychology or sociology. Despite their young ages, a clear pecking order was already emerging amongst these future Jedi, and clearest of all was that young Revan stood firmly on top of the heap. He wasn't particularly tall or strong for his age; mostly he seemed to dominate the group through sheer force of personality. But somehow, whatever the explanation, any game or activity the children undertook always seemed to end up with Revan in charge – and if there was ever anything out of the ordinary going on, you could be pretty sure that Revan would be behind it.

"...And Norah, you're a Sith." Norah Coral, a small, fair-haired girl of five, looked put out.

"But I don't want to be a Sith." Her bottom lip began to quiver.

"And I want to be on Yann's side," called out another voice.

Revan looked exasperated, but he hadn't got to be the _de facto_ leader of his peer group without a certain knack for diplomacy. "Okay," he said soothingly. "Norah, you can swap with Yann, alright? Then let's start."

The game began. The structure was simple: a 'Jedi' would fight a duel with a 'Sith' (sticks taking the place of lightsabers) and the loser would join the opposing team, while the winner went on to fight someone else. Revan always played Exar Kun, whichever side he chose; today he was Exar the Sith Lord.

After two successful battles, Revan found himself facing Norah. She gripped her 'sticksaber' tightly, looking scared, and he knew this was going to be an easy fight. With a couple of heavy blows he almost managed to knock her weapon out of her hand; she squeaked, dropped the stick and ran to hide behind her Jedi team-mates.

Aggrieved, Revan chased after her. "Norah, you've got to be on my team now!" he protested, grabbing her by the arm and trying to drag her away with him.

"Nooooo!" She struggled to free herself, tears beginning to fill her eyes. Fearing that she was about to start crying and ruin the game, Revan decided it would be best to let go of her.

"Alright, then I'll use my Force powers to destroy you!" He flung out a hand in an imitation of a Force-push – or at least, it was meant to be an imitation. He certainly hadn't intended for Norah to go flying several feet backwards and land on the floor with a heavy bump; but as it turned out, this was exactly what happened.

Revan gasped in alarm and quickly pulled his hand back. "Oops..." Norah sat on the ground where she had landed, her mouth wide open with shock. For a moment she was too stunned to make a sound; then, as she realised that she was supposed to be hurt, her face crumpled and she let out a piercing wail.

"_Ooooowww_!" Her eyes flooded with tears. "I'm _telling_ on you, Revan! I'm telling a Master!"

Panicked, Revan rushed forward. "Norah, I didn't – " But it was too late; the little girl had scrambled to her feet and was running off across the courtyard, clutching her grazed hand.

"You're going to be in _trouble_, Revan," Nilo called out gleefully. Revan said nothing; he could very well imagine how much trouble he was going to be in. Using the Force at all outside of training sessions was strictly forbidden, but using it on other people was the gravest sin it was possible to commit. For a brief moment he thought of running away, but he knew it wouldn't take them long to find him; besides, Norah was already returning, clutching the hand of the first Master she had run into. Unfortunately for Revan, this was Vrook Lamar.

"Now what's going on here?" demanded Vrook sternly. Revan opened his mouth to speak, but several of the others piped up excitedly before he had the chance.

"We were playing Jedi and Sith."

"And Revan did a Force-push on Norah."

"She went _flying_!"

Master Vrook exhaled loudly. "Revan Skywalker," he said wearily. "I might have known." He fixed a threatening glare on the young boy. "All right, young man, would you care to explain yourself?"

"I didn't mean t-" he began, but the still-weeping Norah turned on him angrily. "You liar!" Her small, tear-stained face was contorted with fury. "You did it on purpose!"

"No I didn't!" Revan looked around desperately for support, but in typical six-year-old fashion, the others were thoroughly enjoying the prospect of seeing a fellow-pupil get yelled at. Just when things seemed hopeless, however, a quiet voice spoke up: "He didn't. It was an accident."

Everyone's heads turned towards the speaker, who would have stood out from the crowd even without saying a word. For one thing, he was about a head taller than most of the other children; for another, he was completely bald. "What was that, Malak?" enquired Vrook, frowning.

"I saw what happened. It was an accident," repeated the boy. Revan nodded eagerly, seizing his chance. "I didn't mean to use the Force, Master Vrook. I was just pretending..."

"Hmm." Vrook was inclined to trust Malak; he was a quiet, serious child who rarely caused any trouble. "Revan, you've been warned before about this. You must be very, very careful not to use the Force without a Master to guide you, _especially_ by accident. Do you understand?"

Revan nodded meekly, relieved to be getting off this easily. "Yes, Master Vrook." He turned to Norah, who was still scowling. "Sorry, Norah."

"And I don't want you pretending to be Sith. The Dark Side is not a thing to joke about, young ones." Revan looked as if he were about to protest, but then thought better of it. "Come on, Norah," continued her Master, "let's go and get you cleaned up."

The group began to disperse as Vrook walked away with Norah, but Malak lingered behind. Revan flashed him a grateful smile. "Thanks."

" 'S okay." Malak shrugged. "Norah's always like that. Girls are dumb."

"Yeah." They grinned at each other.

"I'm Malak Zordani."

"I'm Revan."

Malak nodded. "Revan Skywalker."

The other boy frowned at the mention of his second name. "No, just Revan." He quickly changed the subject. "How old are you?"

"Seven standard years. You?"

"Six."

They stood face to face for a minute, carefully sizing each other up: the bigger, older boy versus the acknowledged leader of the pack. Finally, Revan gave a slight nod. "Wanna play Space Pirates?"

"Sure."

From that day onwards, Malak became Revan's trusted lieutenant, helping to enforce his authority amongst the others and supporting him in his all-too-frequent clashes with the Masters. In return, Revan would ensure that anyone who teased Malak about his appearance rapidly came to regret it. Within weeks the two were firm friends, as inseparable as brothers, and so they would remain.

"So if Skywalker isn't your real name, what is?" asked Malak one day, in a moment of idle curiosity.

Revan scowled; clearly this was a subject he preferred to avoid. "Don't have one."

"Why not?" Malak looked puzzled.

"Why don't you have any hair?" flung back the other boy. Malak failed to rise to his taunt, however. "I was born like this," he said seriously. "But don't you have a family name?"

"I don't have any family. Master Vandar said the Mandalorians killed my parents." The little boy's scowl deepened. "One day I'm going to use the Force to fight them back."

His friend began to laugh. "You couldn't fight the Mandalorians."

"I could too." Revan threw him a defiant glance. "I will when I'm older. You'll see."

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The years rolled onwards. Revan's training progressed with astonishing rapidity, and before too long it was time for him to be assigned to a Master for individual tuition. Exactly which Master should be entrusted with this undertaking was a subject of some debate within the High Council; some argued that the boy needed a firm hand to curb his more rebellious tendencies, while others believed that being too strict with him would only make things worse. Eventually the task was allotted to Zhar Lestin, a newcomer to the Council, who correctly suspected that he was being tested.

As it turned out, this was a good choice. Zhar was relatively liberal by the Council's standards, and quickly realised that his young Padawan's energy and fierce intelligence were better channelled than supressed; he and Revan soon grew to like and respect each other. Malak was less lucky, having been assigned to Vrook Lamar a year earlier. But being rather more patient than his friend, and less inclined to question authority, he got on far better with his rather stuffy Master than Revan would have done.

As he entered his teenage years, Revan's curiosity about his family and background increased. It wasn't the fact of his parents' death that he couldn't accept – he had long resigned himself to that, and besides, it was normal for most Padawans to have little or no contact with their families. But he found himself wishing that he knew even the most basic details about them – who they were, what they looked like, how they had lived.

"It's not knowing _anything_ about myself which I hate," he once confided in Malak. "Not even my own name." He screwed up his face. "I mean, honestly, what kind of a name is 'Skywalker'?"

Malak laughed. Revan's dislike of his adopted name was well-known, which was why to almost everyone who knew him he was simply 'Revan'. "Well, it could have been worse," he pointed out. "The ship that brought me here was called the _Scarlet Eagle_."

The young man even pestered his Master into helping him contact Maline Jast, who had settled on Coruscant with her two daughters (now known as 'Cat' and 'Lori'). She was friendly, and as helpful as possible under the circumstances, but could tell him little beyond what he already knew. He was left only with a vague description of his mother, and of the guard whom Maline had suspected to be his father; it was clear that barring a miracle, this was all he was ever likely to know.

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Thwarted in his efforts to discover more about his own background, Revan began to study the origins of the Republic's conflict with the Mandalorians. He found the subject fascinating, and as his interest grew, so did his indignation at the plight of the non-Republic worlds left at Mandalore's mercy. "How can we just sit there and allow this to happen?" he would demand of his Masters, never receiving an answer which entirely satisfied him. Once, during a debating contest, he argued so passionately and convincingly against the Jedi's official policy of inaction that even the Council were impressed – but despite this, he was well aware that no one would listen to a sixteen-year-old Padawan.

Undaunted, the young Jedi continued his exploration of military history, studying the Exar Kun war and previous conflicts with the Sith. Zhar was happy to let him pursue his own interests as long as it didn't interfere with his training; and since Revan was already well advanced in his studies, this was not a problem. But one particular incident, shortly after Revan turned seventeen, led to the only major row that ever took place between Zhar and his apprentice.

In the course of his research, Revan had come across tantalising allusions to something called a 'Star Forge' – a legendary weapon of immense power, constructed long before the formation of the Republic – but further information was contained in ancient Sith documents which Padawans were not allowed to access. Revan was not the type to be so easily put off, however. After appealing unsuccessfully to his Master, he enlisted the help of Malak – who, at eighteen, had greater access privileges – in his attempts to find the documents. Initially reluctant, Malak finally agreed to help and soon became as absorbed in the subject as his friend.

Unfortunately for the two Padawans, they failed to cover their traces properly, and their subterfuge was soon discovered. Vrook was furious with Malak, but it was Zhar who really hit the roof. Normally he was prepared to be fairly lenient with Revan, but on this occasion the boy had gone too far.

"What in the Force's name did you think you were doing?" he fumed at his apprentice. "Is it that you can't understand a direct order, or do you imagine the rules don't apply to you?"

Revan was not giving in without a fight. "The Code says that we should seek knowledge, Master. Or does that only apply to what the Council 'permits' us to know?"

"You know perfectly well that some knowledge is dangerous to those without the wisdom and experience to comprehend it properly. Knowing something is not the same as understanding it, Revan." Still the young man attempted to reason with him.

"But we can't afford to ignore useful information just because it comes from the Sith. What I found out may be important –"

"Oh? Not important enough for you to share it with us, clearly." Zhar's face was pale with anger. "Honestly, Revan, I'd prefer to have you defy me openly than go behind my back like this."

A slight tinge of red suffused Revan's face. "I'm sorry, Master, but I didn't have any other choice –"

"You had the choice to obey my orders!" Zhar was struggling to control himself. "Instead you deliberately chose to disobey me, and what's more, you got your friend Malak involved as well. I don't even need to ask whose idea this was." Revan began to protest, but Zhar continued. "I've defended you to the Council in the past because I thought I could trust you, but apparently I was wrong. I'm ashamed of you, Revan." He turned his back and stalked out of the room without another word.

Revan was left feeling distinctly guilty, not so much for the act itself as for his underhand behaviour, and for having got his friend into trouble. He eventually apologised to Zhar with an acceptable amount of contrition, and the subject was not mentioned again. However, Revan did not forget what he had learned about the Sith and the Star Forge; he wrote it down and stored it away carefully, to be consulted later on if necessary. After all, who knew when such information might come in useful?


	3. Part 3

A/N: Here's the third chapter at last... Sorry about the delay, but I've been ill and have had to return to England for a while. To make up for it, I'll be posting an Epilogue in a couple of days.

Oh, and I did want to include something about Bastila, but unfortunatelyI couldn't think of a way to fit her into the story...

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****Part 3**

There was an unusually tense expression on Revan's face as he strode through the wide, echoing corridors of the Jedi Temple, heading for the Council chamber. This was hardly surprising, as he had finally resolved to confront them about a matter that had been preying on his mind for months, if not years. He hoped that with the benefit of three years as a Jedi Knight, an excellent service record and a reputation which was rapidly spreading throughout the Galaxy, the Council might finally consider his views worth listening to – yet he knew all too well that it was still likely to be a major battle.

Revan had been only 18 when he took the Trials. For the title of Knight to be bestowed on one so young was almost unheard of – but despite the unfortunate incident involving the Sith documents only a year earlier, Zhar now considered his pupil knowledgeable, experienced and mature enough to be granted full Jedi status. Other members of the Council had expressed doubts, but eventually it was agreed that the young man should be given a chance to prove himself. To his immense satisfaction, Zhar had been proved right: Revan's performance in the Trials was outstanding.

Nevertheless, it was agreed that the young Knight needed more experience of day-to-day Jedi work before he was ready to take on an apprentice of his own. So he was sent to join a task force working in the Outer Rim, trying to close down some of the slave-trading routes used by the Exchange, the galaxy's biggest organised crime syndicate. The operation lasted two years and was remarkably successful, not least due to Revan's determination and perseverance in the face of seemingly hopeless odds. Pleased with the young man's progress, the Council took the fateful decision to transfer him to another task force processing refugees who had fled the Mandalorians.

The effect of this experience on the young Jedi was almost impossible to overstate. He was shocked and disgusted by what he saw on the planets which had been invaded, plundered and abandoned by Mandalore's forces, and equally so by the Republic authorities' attitude towards the survivors. They would be herded into makeshift camps, often badly run, severely underfunded and lacking in basic necessities, and left there to rot for months or years while planetary governments haggled over who was to accept them. All the indignation he had felt in his younger days came flooding back, leaving him more convinced than ever that something had to be done about this situation.

He had a further cause for concern, however. As he travelled from planet to planet, attempting to turn the relief effort into something resembling an organised, efficient operation, he noticed that the Mandalorians appeared to be gradually stepping up their attacks – and furthermore, he was beginning to sense that the raids were following a distinct pattern. Further study using a computer simulation helped to confirm his suspicions, drawing him towards a disturbing yet inescapable conclusion: Mandalore was preparing to attack the Republic.

And it was this conclusion that he now intended to present to the Council, in yet another attempt to convince them that the Mandalorians had to be dealt with. So intent was he on the task ahead that he didn't even hear the soft, deep voice calling his name as he hurried past. Only when the voice called out again, somewhat louder this time, did he stop walking and turn to find himself looking into the face of a very old friend.

"Malak! I didn't realise you were here." For a moment Revan's troubles were forgotten in the pleasure of seeing his friend again, and his face relaxed into a smile. He and Malak had seen little of each other over the past few years, as their paths had diverged. Whilst Revan had chosen a training regime that balanced the physical and mental disciplines of the Force, Malak had chosen to focus on combat training; after passing through the Trials only a month later than his friend, the older Jedi had been assigned to a peacekeeping operation in the unstable Kratalis system.

"I'm having a rest," explained Malak. It struck Revan that he looked as if he needed one. "How's Kratalis?" he enquired.

Malak shuddered slightly. "As bad as ever. Someone else is taking over soon, thank the Force… Anyway, what are you doing back here?"

The tension returned to Revan's face as he suddenly recalled what he was supposed to be doing. "I've come to talk to the Council."

"Ah…" It was not hard for Malak to guess at his friend's purpose. The two had kept in occasional contact, and Revan had recently written to him about his theories concerning the Mandalorian attacks. "Would this be about the Mandalorians, then?"

"Yep." Revan took a deep breath. "I'm going to try and persuade the Council that it's better to attack them before they attack us."

Malak raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly. "Well, good luck…"

-

The meeting, from Revan's point of view at least, was not going well. The Council members had read the report he had submitted, and acknowledged that he made some excellent points, but on the matter of declaring war they remained as adamant as ever.

"I do understand your concern, Revan," Vandar was assuring him. "But given that these worlds are outside the Republic's jurisdiction –"

"And out of our jurisdiction?" Revan was struggling to conceal his impatience and frustration. "I was under the impression that the Jedi are supposed to defend all sentient life. Do we consider people a lower life-form because they're not citizens of the Republic?"

There was dead silence. Several members of the Council drew in breath sharply. Vander fixed the young Knight with a steely glance before saying quietly, "You are treading on very dangerous ground here, young one."

Revan could have kicked himself. Why did he always let his temper get the better of him? In less than ten seconds he had undone all the good work he had achieved so far. "I'm sorry, Master," he said more calmly. "I shouldn't have said that. But I do feel that –"

Vrook broke in. "Revan, you know as well as anyone else that the Order was badly weakened after the war with Exar Kun. However much we may wish to deal with the Mandalorians, there's no way we could fight them without the help of the Republic."

"I wasn't suggesting we do it without the Republic. If the Chancellor could be persuaded –"

"Have you tried to contact the Republic authorities about this, Revan?" asked Hestra Lorennion mildly.

The young man shook his head impatiently. "They wouldn't listen to me, Master. But they'd certainly listen to the Jedi Council."

"It's still far too dangerous." Vrook was clearly on the verge of losing his temper. "You would choose to risk destroying the entire Order for the sake of a handful of worlds?"

With great effort, Revan maintained an even tone of voice. "Master Vrook, if we wait much longer it won't even be a choice. Mandalore is preparing to attack the Republic, I'm sure of it." He took a deep breath. "If we attack the Mandalorians now we'll at least have the advantage of surprise, but if we wait it'll simply allow them to increase their strength..."

"Well, that's a risk we have to take." Vandar spoke regretfully, but firmly. "If you are correct, then hopefully by the time they do attack the Order will be stronger as well."

Revan finally gave up. What was the point? "One year," he said quietly. "One more year, at the most, and then they'll invade. I hope the Order is strong enough to cope with them by then." He bowed low, then turned and walked to the door, pausing briefly to glance back at the circle of expressionless faces. "Thank you for your time, Masters."

-

Despite his apparent calmness, Revan was seething with exasperation as he left the Council chamber. He felt like one of the prophets of ancient legend, doomed to be scorned and ignored until it was too late. What was more, he was convinced that several members of the Council agreed with him – including his own master Zhar, who had barely said a word throughout the meeting. But the decision had been taken; they were bound to abide by the will of the majority, and keep their own views to themselves.

And the politicians would be no better. While the Republic's military analysts were far from complacent about the threat posed by the Mandalorians, most of them were currently thinking in terms of years or even decades. Revan suspected that their reaction to his own theories, in the unlikely event that he could actually get anyone to listen to them, would be one of incredulous laughter. Besides, even if they did believe him, how could the Republic declare war without the support of the Jedi?

Malak was still waiting as his friend returned from his unsuccessful venture. One look at Revan's face was enough to tell him what had happened. "No luck?" he asked sympathetically.

Revan shook his head and sank down into a chair with a heavy sigh. "None." He looked up hopefully. "I don't suppose you'd like to have a go, Malak? After all, you're the one they think of as the sensible non-troublemaker."

But Malak was not optimistic. "If you couldn't persuade them, I very much doubt I could. You've always been better at that sort of thing." His friend nodded gloomily.

"So what are you going to do now?" asked Malak after a while.

Revan closed his eyes for a moment, considering. "I think I'll go back to Dantooine for a few weeks. Clear my head a little." He smiled sourly. "At the very least it'll allow me to avoid the High Council."

-

On his return from Dantooine, Revan took the decision to publish a paper explaining his theories about the Mandalorians. The reaction was much as he expected: many people laughed at him, a few were impressed, but for the most part he was simply ignored. Resignedly, he accepted that all he could do now was sit back and wait – but he did not have to wait long. Ten months later, the Mandalorians invaded the Republic, and in much the way he had predicted.

Revan would hardly have been human if he had not felt a certain grim satisfaction at being proved right. However, his main reaction was one of anger, frustration, and disgust at the unnecessary suffering caused by the Council's short-sightedness. Nevertheless, he was convinced that they would now agree to join the military effort – surely they could not refuse to aid the Republic?

But he was wrong. Despite a direct request from the Supreme Chancellor, the Council announced that the Jedi would not be participating in this conflict, at least not for the moment. The ostensible reason was the same as always: that the Order was still too fragile after the devastating war against Exar Kun and the Sith, less than forty years ago. However, Vandar hinted that there were other, deeper concerns, though he would not publicly state what these were.

Despite their attempts to explain it, the Council's refusal to help provoked uproar across the Republic, with politicians, the media and the general public united in their condemnation. As the war began in earnest, things got worse: the Republic had been totally unprepared for an invasion on this scale, and as its Outer Rim defences crumbled away with terrifying rapidity, people began to panic. Demonstrations were held outside the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, and many of the Jedi themselves openly spoke out against the Council's decision.

To no one's surprise, one of the foremost figures amongst these rebellious Jedi was a certain Revan Skywalker. But Revan was not content with merely speaking his mind; he was a man of action as well as words. With the help of Malak (who, in his own less forthright way, was as indignant about the Council's decision as his friend), he organised a galaxy-wide petition, which eventually gained the support of about a third of the Order. This he took to the Council, in one last-ditch attempt to persuade them to change their minds.

But it was no use. Revan threw his whole heart and soul into his pleas, but even his legendary powers of persuasion could do nothing to sway the Council. The debate had been going on almost an hour before Monir Ne'dolo, who was fond of the young man, attempted to break the stand-off. "Revan," she asked gently, "do you think we haven't heard these arguments before?"

Revan looked round at her helplessly. "I don't doubt it, Master. But I still don't understand how you can see abandoning the Republic as a greater risk than fighting for it!"

The hall fell silent for a moment. Monir exchanged a glance with Vandar, who nodded and cleared his throat. "Revan," he said slowly, "we have told very few people about this, but I think you can be trusted with this knowledge. The truth is that we have... additional reasons to fear the consequences of a war."

As Revan threw him a questioning glance, Vandar continued. "I'm sure you know that during the Exar Kun war, the Mandalorians fought alongside the Sith. After Exar's defeat, some Jedi pursued them as they fled back to their home planets. Now that section of the galaxy hasn't been explored properly, for obvious reasons." Revan nodded, still uncomprehending. "Many of those Jedi did not return. Others did..." he lowered his voice slightly, "but as Dark Jedi."

"We believe there was something waiting for them out there. Something immensely powerful, which drew them in and corrupted them." This was Dorak. "We cannot afford to risk that happening again, Revan. Another Jedi civil war would be utterly devastating..."

By now, Revan was staring at him in open-mouthed incredulity. "So let me get this straight," he said eventually. "We're going to let the Republic topple because we're – how shall I put this – _afraid of the dark_?"

"This is a serious matter, child!" Unsurprisingly, the angry voice belonged to Vrook Lamar.

"Thank you, Vrook," murmured Vandar patiently. Then he turned back to Revan. "We will not abandon the Republic, young one. In two or three years, when we've had more time to prepare –"

"By which time it'll be too late!" The force of Revan's voice made everyone jump. "More planets are falling to the Mandalorians almost every day. Thousands of people are dying. At this rate we'll be lucky if the Republic lasts one year, let alone two or three!"

"We are more hopeful than you, Revan," said Monir softly.

"Yes, it's always easier to hope than to face reality." Revan had given up any attempt at politeness. "Very well, Masters, I see I'm wasting my time here. Clearly I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands."

As one, the Council members stiffened. "And what exactly do you mean by that, young one?" asked Vandar, leaning back in his chair.

Revan looked directly into his eyes. "I mean that I will raise my own army of Jedi to fight on behalf of the Republic."

There was a stunned silence. Vrook was rapidly turning a peculiar shade of purple. "Quite an undertaking for a twenty-two year old," remarked Vandar, with admirable composure.

Revan's only answer was a shrug and a faint, knowing smile. Vrook, however, was spitting fire. "Are you serious about this?" he sputtered. "You would split the Order in two for the sake of your foolish pride and arrogance?"

"The order is already split, Master," replied the young man calmly. "I'm simply making it formal. And it has nothing to do with pride; it's a matter of conscience."

"And how do you reconcile breaking your vows with your precious conscience?" snarled the Jedi Master. Revan took a deep breath, trying not to grin; this was a moment to be savoured.

"Well, Master Vrook," he said coolly, "look at it this way. Both of us took a vow to defend the Republic when we became Jedi; the difference is that I intend to keep it." It would almost have been worth getting kicked out of the Order just to see the look on Vrook's face.

Vandar, however, was tiring of this one-upmanship. "Enough! Revan, do you genuinely intend to do this?"

The faint light of triumph faded from Revan's eyes, and suddenly he looked rather sad. "Yes, Master," he replied quietly. "I don't feel I have any other choice."

"And you are aware of the consequences that may follow?" Master Zhar looked up sharply.

"Yes, Master. I'm sorry." There was genuine regret in Revan's voice. Seeing that no reply was forthcoming, he bowed once more and left the room without saying another word.

A heavy silence hung over the room for a good while after Revan left. The first to break it was Vrook, who was still red with anger.

"I told you that one would be trouble." His voice was almost trembling with rage. "I always said you were too soft on him, Zhar. And now look where it's got us!"

Zhar opened his mouth to reply, but Vandar interrupted. "Now is not the time to argue about who is to blame for this. I suggest we turn our attention to what our response should be."

Vrook was in no doubt about this. "We must expel him from the Order. Now. Before he undermines our authority any further!"

As in the previous meeting with Revan, Zhar had remained practically silent throughout, avoiding his former Padawan's eyes. Now, however, he spoke up, quietly but with absolute determination. "I will not support any attempt to expel Revan from the Order."

Vandar shot him a brief glance. "You would be prepared to resign over this?"

"If necessary."

"But –" Hestra broke in before Vrook could get any further. "Vrook," she said wearily, "many of the younger ones are practically in revolt as it is. Banishing someone as popular as Revan will hardly encourage them to respect our authority."

"Besides, he must be allowed a trial first," added Xorill. "These are the rules."

Vrook's expression was gradually turning to one of incredulous horror. "So you propose to sit back and let him openly defy us? Make us look like fools? And enourage half the Order to do the same?"

"Remember that we have no idea how this will turn out," pointed out Vandar. "I suggest we wait. It may yet be Revan who ends up looking like a fool."

"Oh, I know how this will turn out." Vrook stood up. "Remember Exar Kun? Thirty years ago? That's how this will turn out." He stomped over to the door and out of the room, shaking his head with what looked very much like despair.


	4. Epilogue

A/N: Here it is, the not-so-short Epilogue (I said I always end up writing more than I mean to). Hope you enjoyed the story.

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Epilogue

The cantina was much like any other on Coruscant: dark, smoky and crowded, with some kind of nondescript popular music droning away in the background. Its clientele was composed mainly of students and other young people, apparently determined not to let the Republic's imminent collapse interfere with their normal routine of drinking, partying and enjoying themselves. Few of them paid any attention to the two Jedi who sat at a table in a secluded corner, talking to each other in low voices.

Malak had listened patiently to his friend's account of his meeting with the High Council. As Revan described his last exchange with Vandar, however, the older Jedi paled slightly and his eyes grew wide with disbelief. "Our own army?" he whispered. "Revan, are you sure about this?"

"I'm absolutely serious." The expression on Revan's face made it clear that he was not joking. "You saw how many Jedi signed that petition. If they're willing to fight, who's to stop us?"

But whereas Revan was seldom troubled by doubts when he had set his mind to something, Malak always seemed to ended up playing devil's advocate. "Do you really think people will be willing to defy the Council?" he murmured.

Revan nodded confidently. "People are angry about this, Malak. They know the Republic can't survive without us, whatever the Council says. All they need now is someone to rally them together..."

Malak still looked slightly sceptical. "And you think you're capable of leading an army?"

A grin began to spread over Revan's face. He sat back in his chair and folded his arms. "Well," he observed calmly, "there's only one way to find out…"

A short, disbelieving laugh escaped Malak's lips. "Good gods." He shook his head with a kind of grudging admiration. "You know, there are times I wish I had half your self-confidence, and then there are other times when I think you must be completely insane…"

Revan couldn't help laughing along with him. "Maybe I am," he admitted. "But seriously, I'm not asking to be made Admiral. We'd be fighting under the Republic's command, of course."

"Yes, I suppose." Malak's face grew more serious. "But you're still taking a big risk, Rev. You realise you could be thrown out of the Order for this?"

The laughter faded from Revan's eyes. "Oh, yes," he said darkly. "I doubt the Council will let me get away with making them look weak. At least," he added pointedly, "if Vrook has anything to do with it…"

Malak shifted uncomfortably; he hated being forced to take sides in the ongoing feud between his master and his friend. "He's not that bad, Revan," he mumbled, avoiding the other man's eyes. "It's just…"

"Just that he's hated me since the day I was born?" A light-hearted tone could not hide the edge of bitterness in the young Jedi's voice. Malak looked up at him and sighed.

"I think you remind him too much of Exar," he said quietly. "They were friends…"

"Well, I'm not Exar and I'm fed up of being compared to him." Revan was beginning to sound annoyed. "I don't see why I should be judged on someone else's actions rather than my own. You know I'm not looking for personal power or anything like that –"

Malak raised his hands placatingly. "Yes, yes… I know."

There was silence for a minute as the two slowly sipped their drinks, neither of them keen to pursue this particular subject any further. "So how exactly do you plan to do this?" asked Malak finally.

Revan took a deep breath. "Well, first I'm going to try and get Master Zhar to help me arrange a meeting with the Chancellor. Then, if I get permission, I'll broadcast a speech asking Jedi across the galaxy to join the campaign against the Mandalorians. And then I'll go round to our Academies and start signing up recruits." He looked straight into Malak's face. "Will you help me, Malak?"

"I…" Malak hesitated, clearly undergoing some kind of inner struggle.

"You have more military experience than I do. You could really help." Revan leaned forward across the table. "I _know_ the Mandalorians can be defeated, Malak. But the Republic can't do it without us, and we can't do it without them…"

The older Jedi closed his eyes for a second and sighed; then, suddenly, his face broke into a grin. "Oh, what the hell. You always manage to drag me into your crazy schemes somehow." He tipped up his glass, gulped down the remainder of his drink and looked up at Revan with alcohol-fuelled boldness. "All right… I'll do it."

"Thanks, Malak." There was just the faintest trace of relief in Revan's face as he grasped his friend's hand to cement the deal. Then he drained the last of his own drink, and they stood up to leave.

-

Who could have guessed that only a few years later, these two childhood friends would have become the bitterest enemies imaginable; that each would have tried to kill the other on numerous occasions, and each suffered physical and mental torture at the other's hands? That within less than a decade they would face each other in a duel to the death, which would seal not just their own fates but that of the entire Galaxy? The Jedi would say that this is the nature of the Dark Side; that it turns friendship into hatred, loyalty into treachery, life into death. For to those who choose the dark path, life becomes a constant struggle in which only the strongest can hope to survive…

But no such thoughts occurred to Revan as he left the cantina that night, filled with energy and zeal, ready to dedicate himself to the task of defending the Republic. He had a destiny to fulfil, and like so many who are truly strong in the Force, he would drag millions of others along in his wake. And perhaps it was inevitable that wherever he led, Malak was destined to follow…through war, through victory and defeat, and finally into darkness.


End file.
